


Desiderata

by Fierceawakening



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Games, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron has come to visit Starscream, the young Winglord of Vos, seeking allies in the coming war. Starscream isn't impressed by the gladiator's bluster - but can't seem to forget a remark his visitor made. What future would joining with Megatron promise, and can Starscream really pass up the opportunity, with war clearly on the horizon?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite sure how the warning system here works, so I'll just add here that beginning with Chapter 2, this story contains violence, sticky sex, eroticized violence, and D/s. Parts of it are definitely dub-con. While nothing is intended as nonconsensual, the mind games do get heavy and creepy quickly. So I want to be sure people are aware of it before they read.

Starscream stood at the window, twitching a bent wing, staring.

The lights of Vos glittered, the tops of the towers shining brighter than stars.

Jolts of pain shot through his injured wing. He remembered hands, big, black, and solid, grabbing at the plating there and twisting hard.

"I have everything you want, Starscream."

He hadn't expected the rasp in that voice. He'd expected something loud, loud and rumbling, shaking his internals with its very sound. He'd expected the violence to come from the words, not the hands that had grabbed at him like they already owned him.

"You don't," Starscream hissed out the window, spitting the words. "I'm not yours, Megatron. Even if you claim Vos, I won't be." He paced, his thin heels clicking against the metal of the floor.

He remembered how it happened. He'd come up with a cutting little remark, just like he always did. He'd taken particular pride in this one, in fact. As far as he could tell, it wasn't even a lie. "So, Kaon's chief barbarian flies to Vos, begging for allies in his pet war."

Then, there'd been nothing but pain. The bigger mech had slammed him onto the table, making every sensor in his back flare with agony and his processor spit a cascade of alarms.

He'd known that his visitor liked wings. But he'd gone for them later, when Starscream tried to get up. His black hands had grabbed for them as soon as Starscream lifted his torso off the table.

Starscream had expected savagery, the great hands ripping at the delicate plating they held, rending and tearing. And yes, some of that had happened, the grip around Starscream's wings tightening, the plating buckling as it dented.

But then the hands had wrenched at his wings, twisting them with practiced, patient finesse. Starscream hadn't known whether it hurt less that way or more, the sensors screaming, torn to life by the hands on them, the hands that hadn't stopped, that wouldn't stop, that wanted more than to rip and rend and be done with him.

Starscream had said nothing, cycling heavy pants through his vents and fighting not to whimper. The agony flaring through his sensornet had torn even his words away.

Or so he'd pretended. He could have come up with something. There was always something, and he always knew how to find it.

But for once in his life, he'd wanted to listen more than he'd wanted to speak. What could Megatron say for himself now? The big mech had come to Vos hoping for an alliance. Instead of negotiating, he'd attacked the city's ruler. He'd acted just like the brute his detractors said he was. Like a mech fit for nothing more than the deathmatch arena he'd risen out of.

Starscream had smirked, waiting, wanting to know just what a beast from Kaon's pits had to say for himself after losing control.

"I have everything you want, Starscream."

Starscream's engines stalled, just as they had then. It made no sense. He'd expected Megatron to threaten him, to treat him like most of the arena mechs treated the opponents they bested. He'd expected gloating, the great gladiator laughing in his face. He'd expected scorn. Most losers in the Grand Arena never walked or drove or flew out again.

Instead, those words, whispered into his audio receptor, like a secret. Or a seduction.

"Is that how they do it in Kaon?" he mused aloud, still staring at the lights outside the window. "By ripping one another into scrap like they do in the pits?" He sneered, but his wings moved again, a bright line of lightning zinging through his systems.

"You could have said anything you wanted, gladiator," Starscream murmured. "You could have cursed me for not agreeing to your terms. You could have threatened me until I agreed to them immediately." He grinned. "Not that I would have kept my promise."

"You could have killed me," he called out the window, as if he wanted the whole city to hear it. His voice rose in pitch as he spoke, becoming his familiar, audio-splitting shriek. "Right then and there. Me. The Winglord of Vos."

_I have everything you want..._

What did it mean? Megatron had a war, or would, once his plans came to fruition. Crude plans, by Starscream's standards. What did Vos want with his war? If he won, he would control everything the Senate did now, but he'd have to win first.

And for that, he'd need Vos.

"You're wrong," Starscream screeched, looking out the window, seeing nothing. "Vos has always stood alone. The Senate can't touch us. What makes you think whatever you put in its place ever could?"

His optics glittered with a hard, cold light. "It's you who need us, Megatron - not the other way around."

If Megatron won, he would have power.

He would rise, all of Cybertron behind him, the fury of the pits and the drive of a single purpose behind him, awakening to claim anything before him and crush anything that wouldn't yield.

Starscream looked out at the lights, imagining them deepening to red, the fierce color of flame, of molten metal. He thought of the stars, hidden from view by billows of black smoke.

_Will he come for Vos if I refuse?_

He hadn't threatened it. He hadn't said anything, not after that one whispered sentence. He hadn't even asked Starscream to think it over. He'd rasped those words and let go of Starscream's mangled wings.

Then he'd stood up, as calmly as he'd entered, and turned toward the door.

Starscream grinned, fighting down the same chuckle that had threatened to undo him then. He raised an arm, power cycling through his weapons systems, his null ray glowing brightly as it energized.

Now he aimed it out the highest window of the highest spire on Cybertron.

Then, he'd aimed it at his visitor's retreating back.

It had been a perfect shot. He hadn't needed his targeting computer to tell him that. It had anyway, confirming everything.

"I should have fired," he muttered, scowling. "I should have shot you, Megatron, right then and there."

_I should have killed you while I still had the chance._

His spark seized at the thought, still with sudden terror.

_You knew I wasn't going to, didn't you, Megatron?_

_You turned your back on me - because you knew I wouldn't -_

_It was a perfect shot - you knew - you knew I -_

"No!" he howled, too loudly. He threw back his head and wailed, over and over. His frozen spark pulsed hard with each cry, as if only his screams powered it.

"It's you who need me - Megatron -" he gasped, slumping against the windowsill, his hands reaching out to steady himself as the lights of Vos's towers blurred before his optics into smears of light. "Not the - other way -"

"I can still kill you," he whispered, his optics brightening, his blue hands digging hard into the window frame as he pulled himself upright again. His wings throbbed, but the pain had dulled, a heavy, leaden memory of agony.

"I'll do what you ask of me," he chuckled. "You have everything I want, self-styled Lord of Kaon. And joining you will give me the opportunity to take it all away from you."

His optics glowed, bright as the lights of the towers. His faceplates settled into their usual smirk and his spark whirled in his chest. "Never turn your back on me again."

_I won't,_ answered the darkness around him.

Starscream threw back his head again and laughed. "I'd never give myself to you if I thought you would," he told the empty room... and the presence that had followed him into it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream travels to Kaon, ostensibly to finalize the negotiations that Megatron had left quite vague at their last meeting. Things get... a lot more exciting than that sounds. And a lot more violent.

"Well, Megatron, I'm here," Starscream called, stepping through the door.

He twitched his wings, trying not to think about the soot staining them. The smoke of Kaon's factories billowed everywhere, rising too high to easily avoid. In the short time it had taken him to fly here, the gleaming white and red of his wings had deepened to dull gray and maroon.

To say nothing of how the stuff _felt_ , clogging up his transformation seams, his intakes, his fans, anything and everything. The city choked him.

So did this room. He was a Seeker, built for flight. The towers and aeries of his home had high ceilings that gave their occupants room to fly or hover if they chose to. The ceiling here looked barely high enough for Megatron to stand without scraping his helmet against it. Starscream shivered, refusing to look up.

At least this room had windows. Though Starscream didn't much like the view. Clouds of soot hid the stars, and the only light came from the foundries and factories, a hot molten glow. He tore his gaze from them.

The walls bore no adornment, only a few light strips providing dim illumination. That didn't surprise Starscream. Kaonians built things strong and sturdy, but rarely went in for the elaborate adornment favored in Vos. Furnishings remained plain, with an occasional bold design.

The table bore one. Starscream smirked, recognizing the symbol immediately. Anyone who had seen Megatron fight in the Grand Arena had seen that logo painted on his frame, and on the frame of his teammates when he chose to fight alongside others.

Starscream looked up to see Megatron nod, one corner of his silver mouth upturned. "Welcome, Starscream." His optics glowed, twin points of flame. "Sit down."

Starscream vented a noisy huff. Sitting would stop the ceiling from threatening to close in on him, and he was sure Megatron knew it. But the chair in front of him, hard-backed and unwieldy, looked far too uncomfortable to bother sitting in.

Besides, his host had ordered him to do it.

He leaned against the table, splaying his fingers out on its surface as though he owned it. _I am the Winglord of Vos_ , he thought. _Not one of your peons slaving away in the foundries or dying for you in the pits._

Megatron's optics flickered once. Then his silver mouthplates set in a frown. "I see you've made up your mind, then."

"Made up my mind?" Starscream smirked. "I've come to Kaon, as you asked. That's all."

Megatron's optics flared brighter. "You did."

He raised a hand. Starscream could see that he held something in it, a thin rod of metal with a design on the end. Starscream's optics clicked as they irised wide and then narrowed, magnifying and focusing on it.

He nearly scoffed when he saw the design: Megatron's symbol, the same one carved into the table.

_It's a branding iron,_ he realized, studying the tiny channels where stored energy would flow, heating it enough to sear the impression into metal. It was lifeless now, dark and cold, but Starscream shuddered as he looked at it, imagining it bright with heat and light.

_You're prideful, aren't you, Megatron?_

Megatron tossed the branding iron across the table with a careless gesture. Starscream snatched it up, glowering, daring Megatron to speak.

"Surely you realize by now that everything in Kaon is mine."

Starscream dropped the branding iron as if it had already burned him. It clanged against the table, one insignia striking another.

"I came here to discuss an alliance," Starscream hissed, grinding his dental plates so hard he spit sparks. "Not to offer the Air Command of Vos to you as a band of slaves."

"We've already had that conversation." Megatron rose to his feet.

Starscream stepped nimbly around the table, the wild hope crackling through his spark that Megatron would hit his head on the ceiling. That by the time Starscream reached Megatron's end of the table, the Lord of Kaon would only look like a fool.

But this building belonged to Megatron. And this was Megatron's city, a city of metalworkers and builders. They had probably built it for him, Starscream realized, his spark quailing as quickly as it had kindled.

Standing in the small room only made Megatron seem bigger. His tall, broad frame filled Starscream's vision. For a moment, Starscream had the panicked impression that the rest of the room was gone, entirely. That the great gladiator had shoved the table aside with his fists, or trampled it under his heavy, thudding feet.

Starscream twitched his wings, his processor working frantically. _Don't be a fool. You're almost as tall as he is. In Vos, he wouldn't look so... impressive._

Didn't _look so impressive,_ he reminded himself, trying to replace what he saw in front of him with the memory of Megatron's visit to Vos.

It didn't help. Remembering Megatron's visit meant remembering those black hands grabbing at his wings and twisting, slowly, deliberately, making Starscream's sensornet flare to protesting life.

He flicked them, trying to will away the ghosts of sensation sparking through them as he stared at Megatron. Ignoring the loud stall of his engines, he stepped closer.

Too close, apparently. Someone else might not have seen it, but he saw the gladiator flinch. He heard the roar of fans kicking on, too low-pitched to be his own.

"Have we?" he asked, throwing back his head and pouting, making his optics flicker just enough that they would shimmer in the dim light.

Then everything became pain, a sharp, pure shock that set Starscream's sensornet ablaze and blanked his optics white, the room swallowed in a supernova of light.

His hands scrabbled blankly over a surface, crawling over the shape of something in relief. His fingers found an object, long and thin, and curled over it.

_The handle of the branding iron,_ he realized. _He shoved me onto the table, like before._

Static fuzzed in front of his optics, resolving into a helmeted head, its optics glowing red. He couldn't yet make out the expression on the silver face.

But the optics burned him. He slid away from them, his turbines whirling. Hands stopped him, grabbing at his wings, at his sides, at the delicate glass over his chestplate. He screeched, dropping the branding iron and reaching out to push Megatron away.

His hands beat against the thick plating of Megatron's chest. The gladiator grunted, but stood immovable as the walls of the room around them. Starscream tossed his head, shrieking.

Megatron reached out and grabbed one of the Seeker's wrists, catching and holding it. Then he bent it backward, slowly, his faceplates twisted into a mocking smile. "Reminding me to finish what I start, Starscream?"

Starscream's cry faded into a whimper, then a broken moan. He'd expected the brutality. Megatron had risen to power from the gladiator pits of Kaon. That gave him all the more reason to respond to Starscream's baiting with cruelty and anger.

But these measured words made Starscream's spark seize in his chest. An angry monster wouldn't bother speaking to him. An angry monster would take what he wanted, snarling all the while.

That, Starscream had prepared for. That, Starscream had come here hoping to find. He could have flown to Vos battered but gloating, satisfied that he knew exactly how to make the upstart warrior from Kaon completely lose control.

Instead, Megatron had answered him with measured words and measured violence alike, as if he'd known very well that Starscream would goad him and then would resist. As if he found those things entirely natural - and entirely irrelevant.

Megatron let go of his wrist. His arm fell to the table with a clang, lifeless but for the twitches of pain still flickering through the sensors there.

"I hate y -" Starscream snarled. Megatron leaned down and pressed his mouth to Starscream's, swallowing the words.

Heat pooled in Starscream's valve and it twitched, convulsing around nothing. He reached up to wrap his uninjured hand around Megatron's helmet and draw him deeper into the kiss. There was no tenderness in his gesture, only a fierce defiance compelling him to take whatever scrap of control he could find. Megatron laughed into his mouth.

Starscream's cooling fans roared, and he panted, air gusting hard from his vents. Then Megatron drew away again, Starscream still biting at his lips.

Megatron stared down at him, the light from the strips on the walls gleaming a reddish-gold against the silver of his plating. The many scars and scrapes on the gladiator's frame glittered, catching the light and holding it.

Megatron smiled. Starscream sputtered, seeing no contempt in the expression. Instead, it was a gesture of appraisal - of looking over what he had caught and approving of his find. As Starscream watched, Megatron's spike cover began to slide aside.

_He held back for that long?_ Starscream marveled, feeling his own valve cover move in answer, lubricant already beginning to leak out as it opened. In a last gesture of rebellion, he willed it to close, the gears controlling it grinding loudly as it froze halfway open.

Megatron scoffed, a wordless sound, and reached down to grip the half-closed valve cover.

Starscream froze. "You can't - you won't - you wouldn't -" he stammered, knowing the thought of Megatron walking away now was worse than what would happen now if he didn't.

Megatron didn't hesitate. His fingers tightened around their prize. Then, with a sudden, violent twist, he ripped the cover of Starscream's valve off entirely.

Starscream's hips bucked as agony shot through the sensors around his valve, his movement a tortured parody of passion. He felt energon well up from the rim of his valve where Megatron had torn his cover away.

He shook his head, a wild gesture that had entirely lost its meaning. He heard the clink of metal hitting metal - his cover, tossed aside, a piece of worthless scrap. He felt Megatron's hands around his legs, pulling him to the edge of the table, and then a new stab of pain through his hips as Megatron forced his legs apart.

Then the pain tore through every part of him as Megatron entered him. Starscream's hips twitched again, automatic, feeling the spike cleave him. He was no stranger to big mechs, to their spikes stretching him so impossibly open he had to partially transform his valve to better accommodate them. But the wound Megatron had already made stung on top of it all, making his every movement burn twice over.

The Seeker's spark whirled, crackling with the heat of it, and he hissed and spat as Megatron drove into him again and again. He felt wetness trickling out of him, lubricant from his valve and energon from his wound. He whimpered, cursing both for not easing the pain or cooling the heat building in his systems in spite of it.

Megatron's frame rumbled, a low, deep vibration he could feel above him and within him and all around him. He moaned, gasping, bucking back onto Megatron's spike because there was no way to fight this fire but with the answering fire of his own surrender, no way to resist his own dissolution but to give in to it.

"Finish it -" he gasped, defeated. He knew what it meant to say it, to confess it, to make his lip plates form the words and to hear them in his own high voice.

Megatron's laugh became a roar as he pulled back and thrust into Starscream again with all the force and fury of the pits. _This_ was what Starscream had expected, had hoped for, had come alone and unescorted to Kaon to find. He threw back his head and shrieked, every sensor in his valve aflame.

The spike filling him froze, twitching once. Then Megatron's transfluid flooded him, the burst of heat searing the wounds and dents it had made. He felt his valve clench hard, gripping its invader. Starscream was sure it must be painful.

He liked that thought. He wanted it to hurt the one who hurt him, to give him some small measure of revenge.

He smirked as his processor blanked white, satisfaction suffusing his systems as his frame trembled in aftershock.

_Everything in Kaon is yours, Lord of the Pits,_ he thought. _But be careful what you claim._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream once again visits Kaon; Megatron has provided him with palatial quarters. Starscream is both amused and disgusted to be "bought" with such extravagance, and violence of all sorts ensues. Including the fun kind. Especially the fun kind.

Starscream smirked to himself as he looked around the room. Megatron had really outdone himself this time.

Most rooms in Kaon had low ceilings. Few fliers lived in the city, and high ceilings were the kind of luxury most grounded mechs wouldn't bother with. But Starscream came from Vos, where everyone had wings. He hated the lower ceilings in grounder cities. They stifled him.

This room's ceilings rose nowhere near as high as a proper Vosian ceiling. But only the ruins of the ancient towers that had once ringed the outskirts of Kaon had ceilings as high as this room.

The high ceiling gave the room another perk Starscream appreciated. An entire wall had been built of reflective metal. Even when Starscream wasn't looking at it, his reflection followed him, the bright red of his body, the white sweep of his wings.

But another feature impressed Starscream more than the mirror and the ceiling: the cloths laid over the berth. Walking over to it, his optics bright in surprise, he reached out a hand. His processor analyzed its materials even as his fingertips felt its softness. Yes, apparently it was real organic cloth.

Cybertron was an inorganic world, supporting only mechanical life. Its best craftsmen could mimic it well enough, weaving fine links of metallic thread together well enough to make it soft and non-abrasive. But cloth made of organic matter was still far softer and warmer, and most of the Cybertronian elite imported polishing cloths for themselves when they could.

But enough cloth to cover a berth big enough for a Cybertronian? That was a luxury even Starscream didn't encounter often. And he certainly never expected to see it in Kaon. The sybarites of the higher castes would have something like this. Or the more ostentatiously wealthy members of the Senate. Mechs here in Kaon built things simple, efficient, and sturdy.

And the smoke of the factories clouded everything, covering buildings and mechs alike in thick black soot that even long soaks in the washracks couldn't completely remove. The stuff would sully cloth like this after one night of recharging under it.

Starscream twitched his wings and ran his fingers idly over the soft covering. _You certainly aren't subtle about your intentions, Megatron._

_Or is this how you apologize?_ he thought, remembering the burn in his valve as Megatron tore its cover away and forced his way inside.

His valve throbbed at the memory, clenching over nothing, and he suddenly wished Megatron had been crude enough to leave him something to shove inside it. He could use his fingers, but somehow that wasn't enough. He could never hurt himself like _that..._

He snickered. No doubt his host knew that. He wondered just how long Megatron wanted him to spend getting used to this polished little prison, and whether he would come to see him tonight.

To occupy his time, he wandered into the washrack off the main room. It was small, and nowhere near as opulent as the bedroom. But it, too, was more ornate than the usual washracks here, with simple but elegant designs etched into the walls and lit faintly from within.

_So the artisans of Kaon can make pretty things, when they bother with it,_ Starscream thought.

The design surprised him as well. He'd seen one symbol over and over in this building, etched into the walls, sculpted into the tables, branded on the plating of the guards. The symbol Megatron had showed him last time. The one he'd said he'd brand on Starscream himself, just like on these others.

He'd thought for certain he would see that here, a reminder of Starscream's eventual destiny. But nothing in the washrack or the room bore Megatron's device.

_It won't until I do,_ Starscream thought, suddenly, his spark stilling in his chest as a chill spread through his systems.

He shook his head to clear it, resolutely focusing on the details of his surroundings. _It doesn't matter. Not really. The arrogant fool can believe whatever he wants to._

The washrack boasted not only the usual nozzle on the wall, but a small tub on the floor as well. Its occupant could soak in cleansers - the sort of thing a Winglord would do, not a laborer or fighter. Curious, he turned the nozzle on lightly, holding out a hand to feel the cleanser-laced solvents coming out of it. That done, he hastily turned it back off again.

He chuckled, holding up his hand and looking at the drops on it. Strong enough to sting a little, and anyone who used this would come out smelling a bit like solvent. But given the thick soot clouding the air here, weaker cleansers would leave a mech almost as dirty as when he came in.

He shook his fingers, moving to dry them off, when he heard the sound. The click of his door irising open, with no hint that his lock had been opened. No scream of alarms announcing that his new haven had been breached.

Starscream froze, beads of cleanser still glinting on his fingertips and wrist. _He must have overriden it._

He walked back into the room, his systems suddenly on full alert. Energy sparked through his circuits, an eerily pleasant cousin to panic.

By the time he reached the door, his wings barely fluttered. He grinned, pleased with himself, and his optics flared. "Megatron. I must say I wasn't expecting you so soon."

The big mech stood just a step from the doorway. He'd polished the worst of the grime off of his silver frame, and he gleamed in the light. Still, it lingered in the many scratches and dents pitting his frame.

Starscream fought not to snicker. _Maybe he needs a trip to my washrack._ But somehow, the black of the dents flattered him, dark against his silver. It was as if, rather than soiling his plating, it belonged there. As if he carried it with him wherever he went, and the smoke blanketing his city came from him, wreathing the places where he passed in his own darkness.

"I came to see what you thought of the room," Megatron said. His optics flared, the bright red-orange of molten metal. Starscream felt a shiver run up his frame, and the lightning-crackle of the nervous energy racing through his circuits again.

"It's lovely," he answered, a smirk spreading over his dark faceplates. "If I don't look too closely, I might just believe I was home."

Megatron's frame rumbled, a deep ominous sound that made the floor vibrate. Or had Starscream simply imagined that? He didn't know, but his spark whirled. His cooling fans roared, and he was glad that Megatron's murmur swallowed the sound of it.

Then Megatron stepped into the room as though advancing on an adversary in the pits. Wary, Starscream move back. He kept his head high as he did it, staring directly into those burning optics.

Megatron frowned and raised a dark fist. Starscream's spark pulsed and his own arm came up in response.

Chuckling, Megatron stepped forward, his fist still raised. It looked almost ceremonial now, a frozen threat. "You defy me, here in the heart of my own city, in quarters I gave you as a gift?"

Pain thudded through Starscream's legs as he backed hard into the edge of the berth. He cursed, feeling the softness of the cloth against the ache, preposterous and soothing. "Defy you? What do you expect, pit fighter?"

He ground his dental plates together, spitting sparks into Megatron's face. Then he smiled. "Do you think it isn't obvious what you came here looking for?"

_It's you who need me, Megatron. Not the other way around._

Starscream shuddered, arching his back, leaning against the side of the berth, his faceplates twisting into a dark and eager grin. He felt his valve throb with all the heat of his heightened awareness as Megatron stepped closer.

He thought again of what Megatron had done that first time, the dark fingers curling around his valve cover and then tearing it free. He remembered the bright sting as his entrance bled energon. Then the pain as Megatron entered him, pushing past the raw wound and filling him.

Starscream forced himself to stillness. He would not open himself. Not even halfway, like he had that first time.

Megatron laughed, looking him over, his optics glowing with the unashamed lasciviousness of a fighter from the worst place on Cybertron. Starscream giggled back, high and wild.

_Always so self-controlled, Lord of Kaon. Making plans to bring our very world to its knees in flames before you. But tonight you come like any brute, sniffing for a whore._

As if in confirmation, Megatron stared directly at Starscream's still-covered valve. The Seeker shifted, canting his hips and snickering.

"That is in the way," Megatron said. "Move it aside."

_You don't want to do it yourself again? Maybe this really is how you apologize._

He reached up to wrap his arms around Megatron's back. He traced the pits and scars in the plating there, feeling every sharp groove. His turbines whirled in eager satisfaction as he saw the gladiator's optics flicker.

"So that really is all you want, then." Starscream's mouthplates twisted into a moue of distaste. "Without even kissing me hello." His hands moved to the back of Megatron's helmet, pulling the bigger mech's mouth to his.

Megatron tossed his head, hard. "Is that what you think I meant, Seeker?" he rasped, his silver mouth almost close enough to touch Starscream's. "To walk in here and use you and nothing else?"

Starscream stared, pouting again without even intending it, wanting to close the distance between Megatron's lip plates and his own. "Use me? I agree to an _alliance_ , and now you talk to me like that?"

He dug his fingers hard into the plating of Megatron's back, his clenched fingers hunting for old scars and transformation seams and digging in, scoring and widening them, drawing energon, feeling it on his fingers.

He gasped, his engines roaring, and a remembered voice whispered _Surely you realize by now that everything in Kaon is mine._ Was he hearing it now? He couldn't be sure. He pressed his fingers into the wet warmth of the energon dripping from Megatron's wounds and felt his own valve drip lubricant in answer.

_He made me bleed before._

"You'll get what you want," Megatron whispered, in that voice Starscream remembered, the voice that had said _I have everything you want_ , back in Vos when all of this began.

"But why -?" Starscream couldn't finish. Couldn't ask for what he remembered and dreaded.

"Because I want you open. Whether I am using you or not. Whenever we are alone together, hidden from the others."

Starscream sputtered, raking his hands over Megatron's back harder. "I don't wear your mark yet, Lord of Kaon."

Hands wrapped around Starscream's wings, grabbing and tightening. Starscream thrashed, wailing as Megatron lifted him by the most sensitive parts of his frame. Dizzy with it, he let go, his hands against Megatron's back opening helplessly.

The awful heat tore through him, pooling in his valve. Its cover slid aside, no will of his own moving it, and the feeling of air against his entrance made him gasp in dismay and relief all at once.

But he too was a warrior, Winglord of the rulers of the air, and he didn't have to make this easy. Willing himself to ignore the pain, he brought his knees up, pushing hard against Megatron's chest, struggling to push the other away.

The grip on his wings tightened and Starscream howled, static flickering through his vision until all he could see were the twin red lights of Megatron's optics, gleaming with hunger and indignation, one feeding the other.

Half-blind as he was, he felt the gap between Megatron's chest and his knees widen. He laughed, wild and desperate, tilting his legs as best he could and firing the thrusters in his feet. "Let - _go_ -!"

Megatron didn't, but his grip loosened enough that Starscream could kick. He did, hard in the spot he had burnt, feeling the heat of the scorched plating against his foot. As the big mech staggered back he twisted away in blind haste.

Every part of him aching, he glanced up at the high ceiling, the homage to Vos a mockery now. There was no way he could take off in here. He barely had room to hover, much less space to stay out of Megatron's reach.

"So this is how it's going to be," the gladiator growled, his voice cold.

Starscream heard the thuds and clicks of a partial transformation, saw Megatron's dark hand retract and shift. A flare of lavender light filled the room, the crackling sound of lightning following it. Starscream stumbled, blinded by it and by its twin in the mirror-wall, a spiked lavender sun on the end of a chain, its links bright with heat and energy.

_An energon flail,_ Starscream realized, shaking his head to clear his vision. _His weapon in the arena._ He'd never seen one of Megatron's matches in person, and Megatron had never had cause to transform for battle with him.

The thought dazed him. Was that thing, that sphere of light and pain, really coming for him? He dodged with all the nimbleness of his frame and his training as Megatron whirled it over his head and sent it crashing toward him.

It hit the mirror-wall, sending reflective shards flying. Starscream ducked out of the way as they fell glittering around him.

Compelled by morbid curiosity, he turned his head toward the smashed wall and stared. His splintered image stared back. He felt a shriek build inside him, indignation and fear and desperation, and beneath it something else, something he refused to name. He tamped it down, twisting the emotion into words as best he could.

"Do you really mean to do this, pit fighter?" he cried, laughing wildly. "To attack your ally for refusing you? To destroy -" he wrested his gaze from the shattered mirror "- to destroy everything you've built here, just to punish me?"

He raised an arm, energy singing through his weapons systems, all the hunger that had fueled him now directed to the destruction of his now-enemy. He watched Megatron move, his targeting computers calculating as he watched the gladiator lift his arm again. He smirked and fired.

_That should put you out of commission._ He'd aimed to stun, and not to kill. As angry as he was, he was in Megatron's city, deep in the gladiator's territory. You didn't just _kill_ the boss and then try to -

Too late, Starscream saw the bright light as the flail swung for him again. He barely had time to wonder if he'd missed before he felt the energized links of the chain sear an already-sore wing.

_He could have hit me. My wing could be scrap._

_He didn't._

He heard Megatron grunt with effort, felt the inexorable pull as Megatron dragged him down by the wing he had caught. Frantic, the Seeker activated his thrusters again, trying to force his way out of the chain burning his plating as it held him fast.

It wasn't enough. With a mighty bellow worthy of the pits he'd come from, Megatron sent Starscream crashing to the ground.

The impact flared through Starscream's every sensor, blanking his processors white. He threw back his head and howled, a broken thing, unseeing and unhearing.

The chain pulled free. Starscream felt where its heat passed and hissed, struggling to clear his processor. He could feel something against his back - something soft. He couldn't have held himself up without it behind him, at least not right now. His legs lay splayed in front of him, twisted at impossible angles. Something was scattered on the floor underneath them, shards digging into the plating of his thighs and shins and ankles. The shards weren't nearly sharp enough to pierce his plating, but they stung.

He saw a light, moving - retracting? - and someone coming toward him. The bright sphere retracted into his assailant's arm. Bolder seeing it vanish, Starscream lifted his head and snickered.

He heard a soft click in answer. He recognized the sound before anything else: his attacker's spike cover, sliding aside, as his valve cover had before.

_I'm still open,_ he realized, chuckling at the absurdity even as he felt his lubricant seep out of him in answer.

He held up an arm, trembling as he aimed the weapon mounted on it. "So this is all that you are," he murmured. "You copy palaces to impress the mechs you want, and smash wonders to pieces when they refuse you.

"I should never have expected anything more from you than that," he finished, snarling.

"Say that again," Megatron answered, supremely unconcerned.

It made the Seeker want to scream.

He stared at Megatron's spike, pressurized and obscene, the light of the room glinting off of it. His valve throbbed, remembering the ache of it stretching and filling him. "Say what again?"

"That you refused me. Then or now."

Starscream shook his head, howling, his high, shrieking voice ringing in his own audio receptors.

Then he slumped, his vocalizer hitching, small staticky sounds coming from it.

"I wanted you," Starscream hissed, defeated. "Then and now, damn you."

The helmeted head nodded once. Then Megatron reached down to pick Starscream up, his touch oddly delicate after so much violence. Starscream felt like a possession, as if Megatron had come into the room to find a prized object twisted and broken, and held it carefully now in hopes of sparing it further damage.

_But you're the one who did this to me in the first place!_ Starscream thought.

Then the echo of a remembered voice: _So this is how it's going to be._

His legs hurt; his back ached. He shuttered his optics, pressing close to the warm metal of Megatron's frame. He heard a tinkling clatter and opened them again, watching a silver rain of shards fall as Megatron's hand swept over the berth, knocking them to the floor.

Then he felt blessed softness beneath him as Megatron laid him on the cloth-covered berth. He moaned, expectant, no will of his own driving him.

He heard an answering rumble from Megatron, and hastily moved to part his damaged legs. It had hurt when Megatron did it for him before, and now - he didn't even want to think about what had happened in that impact. He felt Megatron's hands grab at them and growled in protest, but Megatron was careful, moving the metal under his hands with deliberate, barely-controlled force.

He braced himself, expecting Megatron's spike to pierce him. Instead he stared into burning red optics as the bigger mech lowered his face to his.

_I mocked him for not kissing me,_ Starscream remembered, wrapping his arms around Megatron and snickering. Megatron smirked against his lip plates.

He shuddered, feeling the gladiator's weight pressing down on him, and his empty valve quivered. He opened his mouth, wishing Megatron really had chosen to take him and damn the rest. His cooling fans roared and his turbines whirled, his hands balling into fists against Megatron's back.

Pitiless, Megatron murmured his approval into Starscream's mouth and slid a hand up the Seeker's frame, toward his wings. Starscream gasped, knowing what was coming, then trembled as Megatron's fingertips traced the scorched dents his energized chain had left in the plating of Starscream's wing.

Unable to bear more, Starscream twisted his head away. "Please," he panted, his once high voice a choked rasp.

_Please. Please. I want this. I confess this. Just like you want me to, you vicious brute._

Megatron snickered, backing up, and Starscream shuttered his optics again, not wanting to see, not wanting to think, not wanting to know anything but the sensation.

A pause, filled with the low roar of Megatron's cooling fans and the broken, staticky gasps of his own waiting. Then the shock of the massive spike piercing him, the sensors in his valve lit one after the other as if by spreading flame.

His lost voice found, he keened, a wail that echoed through the room. He heard Megatron's answering roar, rocking his hips as the other began to move, slamming himself onto his invader, all self-preservation forgotten.

He felt Megatron's hands hold him fast as the spike drove into him again. The walls of his valve shifted, struggling to reshape themselves into something wider. Starscream gritted his dental plates and overrode them, wanting the burn.

"More," he cried, the word barely more than a whine.

_I agreed to this. I want this. I want it all. Every tear and every dent._

He felt Megatron tremble against him, nearly undone, and he opened his optics again, staring and licking his lips.

Megatron wasn't looking at him. The warrior's red optics glowed, bright as the heat scorching Starscream's insides. His mouthplates were frozen in a frown of intense concentration. As Starscream watched, the silver lip plates twisted into a slight grin.

Subtle as it was, Starscream saw the triumph in it. He shuddered, thinking of what it would mean for that resolve to finally splinter inside him.

He thought of the shards of glass on the floor, the destruction that had already brought him low. He smirked once and twisted his hips, fighting not to laugh.

Megatron screamed, a deep sound torn from the depths of him. He pulled back for a long moment and shoved his spike in, so hard that Starscream could feel the walls of his valve dent around it.

And on the heels of the pain came Megatron's overload, flooding him, marking his deepest places, leaving no part of him untouched. The sensors in his valve flared, seared and anointed, and Starscream could do nothing but overload in response, his processor flaring white.

###

Every part of him ached. Something soft lay underneath him, but it gave him no comfort. It was littered with small, sharp particles that scratched his paint and dug into his transformation seams.

Despite it all his processor felt hazy and warm, and his valve twitched with unmistakable aftershocks. That hurt, but also felt good, sensation on top of sensation, floating through him. He grinned, moving, half trying to get comfortable, half pointedly trying not to.

A face smirked down at him, its optics red and gleaming. Starscream grinned back at it. Then he snarled. "My room. You trashed it."

"Everything will be repaired," Megatron answered. "That includes you. Stubborn little fool."

"Me? I wouldn't have had to do any of it if you hadn't waltzed in here like you own -" he stopped, closing his lip plates tight, not wanting the word to escape them.

"There is nothing here that I don't own. I told you that before."

"I don't wear your mark yet, you arrogant, overgrown pile of scrap."

Megatron stared down at Starscream's still-open valve, dripping with his transfluid and Starscream's lubricant and a bit of faintly glowing energon from where his spike had torn something inside.

Starscream winced. _I'm as big a fool as this barbarian says I am. Why didn't I let myself shift around it?_

"You think I haven't set my mark on you already, Starscream?"

Starscream's closed mouthplates twisted into a grin. "Maybe you have." He waved at the devastation - the shattered wall, the shards on the floor, his own mangled frame. "But look what it's cost you."

Megatron looked, shaking his head.

"I'll wear your mark soon enough," Starscream said as Megatron turned to face him again. "We both know that. Go ahead, Megatron. Lord of the Pits. Ruler of the new Cybertron, if you can get it."

He laughed, his optics gleaming with crimson light. "Go ahead and keep me. If you can."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream has three days until he's branded with Megatron's symbol. Megatron's been conspicuously avoiding him in the meantime. Starscream is, predictably, Not Happy About This, and when Megatron finally deigns to drop by, he hatches a little plan...

Three days.

Starscream had three days.

He paced, his heels clicking against the metal of the floor. Catching sight of his wings reflected in the mirrored surface of the wall, he turned. His reflection scowled back at him, light glittering on his freshly polished frame.

True to his word, Megatron had repaired the damaged mirror. Like Starscream itself, it gleamed, as pristine as if nothing had ever happened.

He smirked, watching his reflection's faceplates curl into a twisted half-smile. He'd stayed in a standard set of quarters for a while. That room had been very different from this opulent one designed specifically for him, and he'd been eager to leave it. Well-made as it had been, the plainness of the décor had bored him. And the ceiling, of course, had been far too low.

He'd spoken to the crew that had repaired his room only briefly, a team of brightly-colored groundpounders. They hadn't seen fit to bother with him. Instead, they'd set to work immediately, assessing the damage, one mech finishing another's sentences as another hastened off for supplies. Only one of them had spared any attention for Starscream, a surly, big mech who scowled at the room, at the work, and even at his teammates.

"This room is completely ridiculous," he'd muttered in the Seeker's direction. "And Megatron's not the type. I wonder what exactly you do to keep him so interested."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Starscream had sneered back, and found himself face to face with the big mech's similarly large weapon.

It hadn't fazed him; he could easily paralyze the mech long before he could get a shot off. And given all that Megatron had done so far to win his attentions, Starscream was sure the gladiator wouldn't look kindly on the repair crew attacking him anyway.

In the end, the mech had stomped off, muttering something about how he'd expected better of Megatron, of all mechs.

Starscream grinned again. "All mechs have their weaknesses," he told his mirror, admiring the gleaming white of his wings and the bold red stripes decorating them.

He'd taken great care to keep himself clean, washing away the soot of the city frequently and polishing himself to a high sheen. He had no doubt that Megatron had noticed.

But he hadn't yet visited. He'd been busy crafting his latest speech announcing the alliance between Vos and Kaon.

Starscream twitched his wings. _Damn you for taking so long, gladiator. Pretty words don't matter._

Everyone knew what was coming. Starscream visited Kaon so often for a reason, and every Seeker in every wing in Vos knew it. Megatron's perfectly crafted speech would do nothing but put words to the future everyone saw coming anyway.

Besides, they'd barely remember the speech. Not after everything else that would happen that day.

He flared out his wings, the memory of heat thrilling through the sensors there. He thought of Megatron's weapon, its chain wrapping around the thin white metal, tightening around it, the electrified links searing him.

But the next pain he felt there wouldn't come from the chain, or the spiked ball hanging from it, or the energy crackling through the weapon. It would come from something else entirely.

He shivered, remembering the branding iron that Megatron had shown to him on the night of that first visit. Of the symbol it bore. He'd seen that mark on everything here, from the doors to the walls to the plating of the mechs who passed him in the halls.

And in lower places too, scrawled on sidewalks or crudely painted on alleyway walls. Sometimes by fans of Megatron's fighting in the pits... and sometimes by the lost, yearning for a savior.

Starscream laughed. The only ones Megatron would save were those his war would temper.

The Seekers of Vos would be among them. Starscream had already made sure of that. His armies were ready for war, under whatever banner would bring them the greatest glory.

He preened, staring at his burnished reflection, at the wide, unadorned sweep of his wings. Then he froze, imagining the bright burning light of the heated brand and the lightning shocks of pain that would lance through his wings as it struck them.

His spark pulsed, its heat singing through his systems. Feeling it, he ran a hand over his own chest. His turbines whirled and he moved his hand lower, tracing the surface of his abdominal plating and pausing just above his hips.

"We will wear your brand for as long as we must, Megatron," he hissed. "But don't delude yourself. The city belongs to no one but me."

His hand slid over his pelvic plating, tracing the circle of his valve cover. His hips twitched automatically at the feel of his own touch - and the thought of the touch he really wanted instead.

He smirked, his expression playful. But his reflection's optics glittered, hard and cold. "And I won't belong to you for long."

###

"Well, that took you long enough," Starscream snapped, turning in response to the sound of the door opening. As before, there was no buzzer, alarm, or bell to alert him. "Did you finish your speech?"

His visitor nodded, sparing him a slight smile. His optics, as usual, were bright. "I am ready, Starscream. Are you?"

Starscream shivered, half turning toward the mirror. He snarled, wordlessly cursing Megatron. The big mech didn't miss much - he'd see Starscream trembling. He'd hear the sound of the Seeker's cooling fans, kicking on in response to his voice.

Starscream tossed his head, pointedly not looking at Megatron. "Vos knows what's coming, Megatron. What you say won't really matter."

Megatron growled, not at all happy that Starscream had turned his back, and stepped inside.

_Good,_ Starscream thought, spite crackling through his spark, as Megatron spoke again.

"They are yours, Starscream. Do you care so little for their fate?"

"Of course I do," the Seeker hissed, twitching his wings as he took a step away from Megatron. "Far more than you do. As you said, the Seekers are my kind. Not yours."

As Starscream expected, Megatron followed him. He watched the gladiator's reflection come up behind him, saw Megatron reach for his wing an instant before he felt broad hands wrap around them.

Starscream arched into the touch. He wanted pain, the gladiator's tightening grip shocking the sensors awake, sending sensation singing through them.

He remembered Megatron's orders, the last time the gladiator had visited him here. _I want you open. Whether I am using you or not. Whenever we are alone together._ With a peal of mocking laughter, he slid his valve cover aside, watching himself in the mirror.

The fingers tensed, hard enough to hurt. Starscream bit his lip plates. _You're not the only one who can play this game, pit fighter._

Megatron's frame rumbled. Starscream could feel the vibration through the floor. His lip plates parted in anticipation.

Megatron's hands twitched. Then his hand opened, slowly, leaving only his fingertips resting against the Seeker's wings, their touch unbearably light.

"You say you care for the Seekers more than I do," Megatron murmured, running his fingertips over the edge of the metal they held. Starscream fought to keep still. _Damn you for making me wait so long, you ugly, rusting -_

"That's only fitting. You are their Winglord, after all." Megatron's voice, unlike his touch, was harsh. "But I offer them a future you cannot. A chance to set this world ablaze, lit by the fires they rain down from the skies."

The gladiator's frame rumbled. Starscream felt it and shivered again. "They were built for this. Can you give it to them, Winglord of Vos, huddled in your spires back home."

"I could -"

Megatron laughed. Starscream cursed him, spitting sparks.

"You could what? Set Vos against all of Cybertron on your own? With no allies to protect or aid you? With no vision but your own desire fueling the flames?"

Starscream squirmed, twisting to spit his words at Megatron. "A future? Is that what you think you're giving us? Giving me? A place in your war, a war none of us asked for -"

That shot told. Dark fingers curled hard over Starscream's wings, their grip lancing bright bursts of pain through the sensors there. His spark whirling in triumph, the Seeker bit back a moan.

In the mirror, he could see the other mech's optics blaze, the bright orange-red of molten metal. "You made your choice, Starscream."

"My choice, yes -" Starscream panted.

"And yet you still find fault," Megatron growled, leaning down to snarl the words into Starscream's audio receptor. The Seeker tensed, his valve clenching.

"I -"

"But I will not damage you." The great hands trembled, clutching at Starscream's wings for an agonizing, blissful moment and then stilled. "Not now."

Starscream sputtered. _You've attacked me for less, pit fighter. What are you doing?_ "Not - now?"

Megatron ran his fingertips along the edge of Starscream's wing. Starscream arched his hips, unable to resist the touch. It felt exactly wrong, ghosting along plating that had sang with pain just a moment ago. But that didn't matter. He needed it anyway.

"Not now," Megatron repeated. "I need you pristine for the ceremony."

_To the Pit with the ceremony_ , Starscream thought. _You've probably given me some minor dents already._

"I can't have you marred for that," Megatron was saying, his fingertips still dancing over Starscream's wing. "Not when Kaon and Vos alike will see me put my mark on you."

Starscream scowled. Then he grinned. _Then I can do anything I want for three days. You just said you won't stop me._

"Of course," Starscream purred, his optics brightening as he reached back to touch Megatron's plating. He heard a grunt of surprise. And suspicion, more than likely. Pit fighter though Megatron was, he had proven many times over that he was no foolish brute.

But on the heels of Megatron's gruff vocalization came another sound: the unmistakable roar of his cooling fans, lower and deeper than Starscream's own.

_You have me where you want me, gladiator. But you're exactly where I want you now._

He turned, sharply enough to strain his own wing joint. It stung faintly, the jolt zinging through his systems. "But you must have come here for something."

Megatron chuckled, releasing Starscream's wing. "Yes."

Freed from Megatron's grip now, Starscream turned, falling gracefully to his knees in front of the larger mech.

Megatron stared down at him, a hard, severe expression. Starscream twitched his wings, wrapping his arms around Megatron's frame and drawing him closer. The metal under his hands was hot, and he could feel the vibration of Megatron's engines, a throbbing purr.

He leaned his head against Megatron's pelvic plating, smirking against it. The spike cover hadn't yet opened, and he looked up, equal parts impressed and baffled by the big mech's self-control. He ran his helm along the heated metal of Megatron's pelvis, opening his mouth to lick at the seams of the gladiator's spike cover. It slid aside with a hiss.

Starscream's spark surged, seeing the thick spike spring free. It wasn't quite what he wanted, no, not with his valve aching to be filled by something more than his own fingers, but it sent desire spinning through his systems anyway. Megatron had always grabbed him and taken him and used him. He'd never given Starscream a chance to show off his finesse.

_Barbarian,_ Starscream thought, licking along its length and hearing a groan of approval above him. _Maybe it's time you learn there's more to this than grabbing someone and ripping them in two._

He murmured as he moved, the response making his mouth ache for it, an echo of the yearning in his far too empty valve. But he wanted to draw this out, and moved back down again, chuckling with Megatron growled at his teasing and wrapped his hands, half fond and half threatening, around the Seeker's head.

Megatron made no move to guide him yet, waiting. Starscream chuckled, his glossa moving up its length again. Then he tilted his head to stare up at Megatron and, seeing the smoldering light in the other's optics, opened his mouth.

He was used to big mechs, but his valve was more forgiving than his mouth, the metal lining it more capable of shifting to admit them. Still, vorns of experience had taught him a few tricks.

And if Megatron wouldn't willingly hurt him, at least the gladiator's spike could burn going in. He shifted what he could and took it in with practiced smoothness. The hands wrapped around the back of his helm trembled.

Starscream began to move, Megatron's grip tightening around his head and pushing him down. The friction chafed the sensors inside his mouth, waking them with bright pitiless heat, and his valve pulsed in sympathetic response. With a choked gasp, he slid one hand off of Megatron's back, wanting to touch himself, to feel _something, anything_ slipping along the sensors at its rim, then sliding inside.

_You want obedience, don't you? Arrogant idiot. You should know you won't get it from me just because you promised to be kind._

Megatron growled a warning, one hand moving to catch Starscream's wrist, the other slamming the Seeker's head over him still harder.

Starscream gasped, thrashing. The cabling inside his wrist was delicate, and small enough that even if no one repaired him before the ceremony, the watching crowds might miss it. Megatron's engines revved in response. He thrust hard into Starscream's mouth, abandoning all pretense of letting the Seeker control their pace.

_You still like my pain,_ Starscream thought, exultant as the thick spike scraped against the inside of his mouth. _This is taking a toll on you too, Lord of the Pits._

Starscream relaxed, attempting to slide the plating inside his mouth open wider. It protested with feeble clicks, and Starscream wondered in a moment of fear and excitement just how that felt to Megatron, and how someone like Megatron might take his revenge.

Megatron snarled, his grip tightening. Starscream's spark crackled. _He really might tear my wrist,_ the Seeker thought, craving the damage as a trophy - and as a sign that this mighty would-be warlord had finally lost control.

But Megatron only drove into Starscream harder, his thick spike filling every part of the Seeker's mouth with bruising heat as his transfluid flooded out of him. Starscream trembled, triumphant despite his still-untouched frame and wings.

Megatron would see this as an act of devotion. Starscream knew better. He had what he wanted - including the pain he'd craved.

But he wanted more. And he would make sure that Megatron knew it.

His optics flared once, glowing brightly as the gladiator pulled away. With an exaggerated gesture, he leaned down, spitting the fluid in his mouth onto the floor - and onto Megatron's feet.

The quicksilver puddle glistened, shining against the polished floor and the scratched, soot-stained plating of the gladiator's feet.

Starscream barely had time to smirk at the sight of it. The hand around his head slammed his faceplates down, pressing the sharp planes of his cheek plating into the puddle and against the floor beneath.

"Clean that up," came the rasping voice above him, still staticky after its owner's overload.

But no less threatening, not with the hand tight around his head and the clear threat laced through the unsteady voice. His mouth burning and his valve throbbing, Starscream did as he was bid, licking up the fluid on the floor and then moving to lave Megatron's feet.

A shudder ran through the big mech's frame as he moved, and he grinned against the heavy plating, his glossa sliding over old nicks and scars - and the grime ground into them by vorns of living in this city.

The taste of it - even the thought of it - repulsed Starscream, Winglord of a city where everyone kept to their towers in the untouched and clear skies. And yet the Seeker found himself thinking, again, that the soot-stains suited him, sanctifying his scars with the blessings of darkness and war. He moved to lick along Megatron's other foot, humming against its surface in an eager half-moan as he lapped up the last traces of the other mech's emission.

Then the hand at his neck drew him up to his knees again. He let it, his systems cracking with charge, an unbearable heat roiling through his empty valve.

Megatron's hand slid over his cheek. It stung, tracing over scratches left there when Megatron had slammed his head down.

"So you did mark me," Starscream murmured, his optics flaring.

"So it would seem," Megatron answered, chuckling, sliding his fingertip over to Starscream's lips.

Starscream thought of biting, but even that slight touch made him tremble. "Please," he said instead. "Touch me - something - somehow."

Megatron's engines revved, a quizzical, amused sound.

"You heard me," Starscream snapped, turning his head away and rising to his feet.

"My valve has been empty for days. I want you, pit fighter. Your fingers. Your hands." He seethed, cursing himself for his own lack of foresight. He'd been so glad to take advantage of Megatron's uncharacteristic gentleness that he'd only made things more difficult for himself in the end.

Megatron chuckled, grabbing Starscream and scooping him up. "Are you so eager for me now, my Winglord of Vos?"

Starscream shivered. _Yours?_ he thought, hissing and then calming again. He had agreed to this, after all, and long before now.

"Yours," he repeated, his voice soft, as Megatron carried him over to the berth and laid him down on the cloth-covered surface, far too gently. Then he felt Megatron slide him down, forcefully enough to make him squirm again.

When he felt the other mech's lip plates brush against the rim of his valve, he snarled. _That isn't what I meant,_ he thought, hissing a curse. Then he felt Megatron's glossa against the sensors there and he twitched, his hips bucking as the sensation raced through his sensor net.

_Damn you to the Pit,_ he thought. It felt good, charge building in his systems - but left him as empty as ever.

Megatron was far from tender. His hands gripped Starscream's hips, freezing the Seeker in place as he murmured against the dripping valve around him and licked at the sensors there, fast and pitiless, the building charge rising to an intensity Starscream had never felt, not from this, not without something inside him, rending and tearing at him, cleaving his insides in two -

He pressed against Megatron's mouthplates, wanting more and wanting this over, this horrible wonderful awakening that raced through him everywhere but where he wanted it most. Even Megatron's glossa inside him would be something.

But the gladiator remembered to deny him that, even as he growled against Starscream's valve, lapping at the lubricant oozing from it with obvious and fierce relish. Starscream keened, struggling to move, to grind himself against that accursed mouth, so despised and so much needed, but the hands held him fast, digging into his hip plates with a maddening spike of pain that felt so good that the next swipe of the big mech's glossa over the sensors at his rim undid him completely.

He shuddered hard and overloaded, howling, a wordless curse and cry of thanks all at once.

Megatron scoffed, a rumbling sound that made Starscream twitch again to hear and feel it both. Chuckling as Starscream trembled with aftershock, he rubbed his lubricant-smeared faceplates against one of Starscream's thighs.

"I hate you," the Seeker spat.

Megatron grinned. "Do you, now?"

"You know what I wanted, you dirty, rusting brute."

"Calm yourself, Starscream." Dark hands moved to the Seeker's wings. He twisted away, not wanting any more of these damnably light touches.

Megatron shrugged and withdrew. "Very well, if that's the way you choose to behave."

His optics brightened, glowing embers set in the silver of his face. A jolt of errant charge ran through Starscream's systems at the sight. The Seeker whined, overstimulated and still aching for what the gladiator had denied him.

Laughing, Megatron spoke again. "Don't worry. You'll get what you want - _after_ the ceremony."

The big mech's mouthplates set in a grim line. "I will claim you then. Not now."

Starscream glared, his optics glowing.

_But you already have,_ he thought, tossing his head to keep himself from confessing it. _I'm already yours._

"Fine," he spat. It was the only thing he could bring himself to say.

Megatron nodded, smirking. "Until then," he answered, wiping the last of Starscream's lubricant from his faceplates before turning away.

_Until then,_ Starscream thought, watching the doors iris open for Megatron. He raised an arm, aiming his null ray.

But Megatron hadn't fully turned his back, even as the doors slid open for him. He'd done that only once, and Starscream hadn't taken that shot.

_All right,_ Starscream thought. _But I will have what I want from you, Lord of Kaon. Here, and anywhere else. Everywhere else._

His dark faceplates curled into a smile. If Megatron wanted to make that difficult, that was perfectly fine with him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream (finally) receives Megatron's brands. In front of an audience. A big audience.

The oration rang in Starscream's audio receptors.

He stared out over the audience, staring but only half seeing. The lower tiers of the hall of audience were full of grounders, big-framed and noisy, whose engines rumbled as they shouted Megatron's name. Their frames were stained with black grime and pitted with scars, some from the deathmatch arena, some from the daily hazards of work in smelters or factories, and some from ordinary brawls. But their optics shone a bright, fierce red, and the roar of their cries echoed through the hall.

Perches ringed the space above them, and Seekers stood or sat on them or hovered above them. They cheered as well, revving their engines and twitching their wings.

_Politics,_ Starscream thought, snarling. They knew full well what Megatron wanted from them. They cheered because they had no choice, just as Starscream himself hadn't.

All around them hung banners bearing Megatron's device, a dizzying array of them. Too many, too much, and they said everything Megatron had said anyway.

_Your pretty words don't matter, brute,_ he thought, trying to ignore the words echoing through his mind and the mech who had just spoken them.

"Too long has Vos stood alone," Megatron had said. "The spires of the city rise above all others, looking out over our world. And yet the Vos of old was a city of warriors, not watchers. The Seekers were once lords of the air, not schemers in high towers."

Starscream's dark mouthplates twisted into a snarl, remembering. He had expected Megatron to call for war, of course. He hadn't expected the direct insult.

"Yet enemies gather, envious of Vos and fearful of Kaon. We are the fist of a new Cybertron, rising from the fires and smoke of the old to strike down the fearful and the weak. With this alliance, Vos becomes its wings."

Starscream couldn't recall what Megatron had said next. He remembered only the voice and its cadence, now rasping and quiet, hissing secrets fit only for those he'd chosen, now thundering as if already calling his legions to battle, Seekers and Kaonians alike.

It made his valve throb. _Focus, Starscream,_ he snarled at himself, his vocalizer emitting a faint, staticky hiss. _It's not war you're here for. Not yet._

"Then there is only one thing left to be done," a voice beside him said. His wings twitched; it startled him to hear the voice outside his own head.

He turned, slowly, not wanting to look at the contraption behind him.

But Megatron's optics were on him already, crimson and bright as the flames that would someday rise for him. He nodded once. Maybe that would appeal to the big mech's sense of formality and they could get this over with.

Starscream shuddered as he straightened. He could see the device in the corner of an optic. It was too small, barely big enough to hold him, and he hated the thought of something holding his wings still.

He stared at Megatron instead. The gladiator's silver plating gleamed under the stage's lights. Clearly, the big mech wanted to impress his new as he'd wanted to impress Starscream, that first time the Seeker had visited him in Kaon.

Starscream smirked. Imposing as Megatron's frame looked, and elegant as the careful polishing made it, it remained scratched and dented, scarred from countless battles in the deathmatch arena. And as before, even the best polishing job couldn't get all of the soot out.

Starscream's wings of Seeker warriors probably couldn't see that, but Starscream knew it. _Interesting what you learn when you get too close. Don't you think, Lord of the Pits?_

But as Megatron turned to face him, he saw something the big mech's plating hadn't borne before: a brand in the center of his chest in deep imperial purple, a ring of dark, burnt metal around it clearly marking it as fresh.

Starscream winced. Three days ago when Megatron had visited him, he'd worn that insignia painted on his chest plate, not branded there.

_You really mean this, don't you, gladiator?_ Starscream thought, fighting not to shiver. _You're taking the same pain you're giving all the rest of us._

Then he did shiver, his spark crackling in his chest, giddy with sick anticipation. _Now it comes to it._

He stepped toward the device and turned, crying out some silly comment about the glorious alliance. He couldn't remember what exactly it was, but he'd practiced it often enough that he felt sure it would please Megatron and impress his Seekers alike. What the brutes of Kaon thought, he hadn't guessed.

And couldn't guess, not now that the arms of the device held him frozen and Megatron's frame was looming closer and closer still.

Starscream tossed his head; a clamp caught it and held it still, automatic and uncaring. He spared a muttered curse that the crowd probably wouldn't hear over its own noise, and then willed himself to silence.

_I said I would do this,_ he thought, snarling. He too came from a city of warriors. _Your little dramatics don't frighten me._

He brightened his optics and would have flared out his wings, but he couldn't move them. The device already held them extended anyway. Not in the display of defiance he wanted to make, but exposed. It presented every surface of his wings to Megatron - and to the tools Megatron would use to sear them.

His spark pulsed again, its energies whirling. Lightning zipped through his circuits, a nervous heat that pooled in his valve as the thud of Megatron's steps boomed closer. Its sound echoed in Starscream's audio receptors, pure and untouched by the noise of the crowd.

Starscream glared at Megatron, his optics burning. His lip plates parted. Megatron stared back, his optics flickering. Emboldened, Starscream licked his lips, just enough so that he knew that Megatron would see even if the cameras and the crowds failed to notice.

Megatron turned away, seemingly unaffected, but Starscream caught the low roar of his cooling fans as he passed by. The gladiator was close enough to Starscream that he could feel the heat of the air cycling through Megatron's vents.

He smirked, exultant, suddenly glad for the contraption holding him still. It would make his gloating less obvious to anyone besides the one he wanted to notice.

Megatron waved a black hand and the crowd hushed. Starscream snickered. _You fools are acting like this is a pit fight you've all come to watch._

But Megatron had more in mind than the melodrama of the fights, apparently. A group of groundpounders filed onto the stage. They walked almost like priests of Primus, their steps measured and slow. Their engines hummed, the rumble of Kaonian engines sounding almost like a chant.

Starscream looked over the stands and the perches and saw the Seekers click their wings, some leaning closer to see. Their Winglord only chuckled, recognizing the group of mechs. They were the ones who had repaired his quarters some days earlier.

_That might impress this crowd, Megatron. But it won't impress me._

Four of their number carried small, translucent containers. Inside them lay small objects that stilled Starscream's whirling spark in his chest. Objects he would have known anywhere, despite that right now they lay dormant and facedown, only the small handles that a wielder would use to grip them visible.

_Funny,_ Starscream thought, letting loose a peal of high-pitched laughter before he could stop himself. _I didn't think he meant to brand me himself._

Starscream's spark pulsed with renewed rage, watching Megatron walk over to the first of them and wrap his hand around the handle of the first branding iron. If the gladiator meant to do this by hand, why bother to bind him? Did he think his new Air Commander couldn't hold _still?_

He'd expected Megatron to rely on the device to do it for him - that he would set them into their places and the machine would press them into Starscream's wings, precisely even, exactly measured.

And, most importantly, that the machine would do it all at once. He had no desire to feel each strike, one after the other.

But Megatron had already pulled the first branding iron out of its holder. He twisted his wrist and it flared to sudden life, bright purple energon racing down the channels in the handle, making the insignia at its end glow bright, optic-piercing purple.

Megatron held it out in front of him, studying the energy flickering over the design. Starscream's engines sputtered, staring at the purple light, reflected on the silver of Megatron's frame. He whimpered, too loudly, and felt his hips twitch in helpless, horrified response.

The symbol burned in his vision. Lightning crackled over it, wreathing it in heat and light, and it glowed, first lavender and then so brightly it went white, the light scalding Starscream's optics, filling his vision with snow-staticky errors as he stared. But he could not look away.

He wondered for a wild moment just which wing Megatron would press it to and where. What would it look like, the black new burn against the white of his wing, he wondered. Spark contracting with morbid curiosity, he turned his head to watch.

But Megatron, always the showman, had apparently decided not to give the Seeker or the audience the satisfaction of seeing it right away. Instead, he stepped behind Starscream. The Seeker felt heat at his left wing and trembled. _He's only lining it up,_ he reminded himself, cycling shallow pants of air in a futile attempt to calm himself down.

Then pain exploded through his wing. White light burst before his optics and his frame twitched, shaking, under no power of its own.

Every part of him burned, the agony speeding through his circuitry until his spark itself was aflame with it. His valve clenched in helpless response to the overwhelming sensation, but not in anything he could understand as pleasure.

He did not curse. He did not move.

_Megatron endured this,_ he reminded himself. He might have said it aloud, if he could have vocalized anything more than a sibilant, bitter hiss. _If he endured this, so can I._

But then another thought, unbidden and unwelcome: _He endured this - once. But he's giving me one on each side of each wing._

Cycling air in heavy gasps, he willed himself to stop trembling. He heard a rumbling purr from Megatron behind him and gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. _Be careful, brute. They might see._

That thought sent new heat to the very places he would most need to hide, and he only laughed louder. Behind him, he could hear Megatron moving away again. A moment later he saw him, the great silver frame crossing the stage to take the second brand from another of the brightly colored mechs.

Again Starscream watched Megatron's hand, and again one of the brands flared to life. The pain in Starscream's wing flared again as he watched, and he thrashed in the bonds holding him as Megatron moved behind him again.

_Barbarian. At least let me see. At least let me know when it's coming._

Then he felt fingers on his wing, light as a gust of wind, and shivered. Megatron was - touching him? Here? In front of everyone?

He snickered. Starscream's small frame, and the lattice of clamps and clasps that held it, couldn't hide everything. Especially not from the optics of his Seekers. Seekers were fight-capable warriors, their optical apparatus optimized to focus precisely on things far away. With their attention fixed on the spectacle, they'd know where Megatron's fingers were now, even if they didn't guess why.

A moment later Megatron's hand left his wing. Starscream barely had time to miss it before he heard the crackle behind him and felt the heat as Megatron lifted the brand. Spitting a curse between clenched dental plates, he steeled himself for the impact.

Then it came, blanking his vision, and his frame twitched anew. His hips tilted up through no will of his own. Although he couldn't move far, he laughed to think of something so obviously obscene. And something everyone would miss, most likely. He didn't have the freedom of motion to make it obvious right now, even if he'd wanted to.

Megatron would understand it, if he could see it. But, disoriented as he was from the new shock of pain, Starscream couldn't tell how far Megatron had moved. He could feel the thudding vibration of the big mech's steps against the floor, but his vision took several moments more to clear. By the time it did, the third brand had crackled to life and Megatron was holding it in his hands.

He stood in front of Starscream now, holding the burning insignia out in front of him. It filled Starscream's vision, stinging his optics. Above it, Starscream could see the bright red of Megatron's optics. He tilted his head as best he could, staring back into them.

_Go ahead. I've come this far._

Megatron nodded once, as though he understood. Starscream kept his optics fixed on Megatron, watching the flicker of red, the bright swirling color of molten metal, to keep himself from looking down.

He thought of the promises Megatron had made, the war that would sweep Cybertron, the red of the flames that would scour their planet pure again. And the red of molten metal, of the burning of their enemies.

Then he himself burned.

He howled, his mouth opening and opening. By now he knew the pain and expected it and knew he could endure it. But somehow, seeing Megatron there in front of him made it real. Made it more than simply some agony visited on him, some torment wreaked upon his wings by an unseen and hated enemy who had tricked him into offering himself up.

When the static cleared from his vision, Megatron's optics still glowed, bright pits of red. Starscream narrowed his own optics, not wanting their glow to hypnotize him, and turned his head to look at his wing.

In its center lay the mark, its lines crisp and perfect, at least for the moment. It was a deep purple, almost black for now, darkened because of the fresh burn. A few small sparks of energy still crackled over it, and it shimmered where the light caught it. It had been made by an energized brand, and when the light caught it properly, it would gleam like that again.

Heat surged through Starscream's systems, pooling in his valve. He canted his hips again, a tiny movement that sent a wave of desire through his interface equipment. He thought of Megatron's order to keep his cover open when they were alone together and for a wild moment thought of opening, right here and right now.

Megatron smirked, staring at his handiwork. Starscream grinned back, brazen and blatant.

_Yes, Lord of Kaon. I bind my fate to yours. Let's hope for both our sakes that you can handle it._

The fourth mech hesitated and then stepped forward. Starscream's optics widened. Megatron had moved to take them from the others before. But now the last officiant was moving toward Megatron himself, apparently anxious to see the ceremony finished once and for all.

He heard Megatron growl, perhaps in displeasure, and saw the black hand reach down and slowly tighten around the last of the handles. His engines sputtered, thinking of Megatron's hands tightening around his wings. Of Megatron's dental plates, biting into the cabling of his joints or his neck. Of Megatron's spike inside him, and the inevitable end of this little ritual, which none of the machines gathered here would have the privilege to see.

Starscream's turbines whirled. His cooling fans kicked on, whirring loudly. He stared out at the crowd, at the glitter of optics fixed on him and fixed on the big mech marking him. Had they heard it? Would they hear it, magnified by the acoustics of the hall of audience? The lights flickered in his vision as he struggled to hold his head up, gritting his dental plates against a new wave of pain.

His sensornet flashed with warnings. _Emergency shutdown imminent._ He sneered, ignoring them.

"There is one more," Megatron said, echoing Starscream's thoughts.

The big mech looked only at Starscream as he lifted the last branding iron. He spoke in a rasping whisper, too low to excite the crowd or to sway his new followers.

"There is," Starscream answered, his dark mouthplates twisting into a bitter grin.

Megatron smiled, turning his hand. Lightning danced over the surface of the brand with a hissing sizzle.

Starscream's optics irised open, their aperture widening, taking in more and more light from the glowing insignia Megatron held. It scorched him to look at it, patterns of color and errors dancing in his vision, but he only opened his optics wider and cycled air hard through his vents, waiting for the greater burst of pain.

His glossa darted out to lick his lips again, and he made no move to hide it. He laughed, a mad giggle, and then laughed even louder when Megatron snickered in answer.

His spark pulsed, and his valve echoed it, clenching over nothing. He could hear the crowd whispering, the click of Seeker wings and the hum of Kaonian motors, the nervous fidgeting of the others in the ceremony, the jittery, irregular noise of someone's engine as it stalled.

Starscream only laughed louder.

_I bind my fate to yours._

A rolling vibration came from Megatron's frame. Its rumble drowned out all else, and Starscream's laughter died. His vision flared white as something approached him, bright and dangerous, and for an instant he could see nothing at all.

A moment later, every part of him was pain. The sensors in both of his wings, taxed to their limit, flared all as one, agony speeding through Starscream's systems. He felt it everywhere. His wings, his optics, his shoulders, his chest. His spark surged with it, overfull, the energy expanding too far too fast, overheating the casing his spark rested in.

His every circuit flared with it, fire speeding through him as though it would melt him from the inside out. He opened his mouth and keened, a high cry no vocalizer but his own could ever have emitted.

He felt the floor tremble - Megatron, again, his frame rumbling with concentration or approval or concern or pain of his own, hearing so piercing a sound? Or his own imagination, making the world shake around him, reflecting what had happened to him, inside? Starscream could not guess - and was in no condition to do so, alive to nothing but the agony that left no part of him untouched.

"Megatron," he whispered, a curse and a plea all at once.

The thing searing him withdrew and he panted, hanging limp in the device that bound him, only its clamps and braces holding him up. His wings hurt, terribly, perhaps more terribly than they ever had before. Or would again, he hoped.

But that was only pain. Only something to be felt and experienced and lived through. Nothing like whatever had just invaded and transformed him. He cycled a sigh of relief more vast than he had ever felt before.

"Starscream," answered a voice, rich and resonant and possessive.

The Seeker shuttered his optics - they hurt too, from opening too wide and letting in too much light a moment ago - but lowered his head to face the source of the voice. Then, slowly, he opened his stinging optics again.

His valve cover clicked, wanting to open, as though in response to some command. Beyond reason, Starscream almost obeyed it.

But the influx of visual data as his optics opened again showed him pinpricks of light all around him. They ringed Megatron's form like a halo of lights. Like apparitions that would follow him, down into war and chaos, igniting the places where he passed.

Most of the lights were red. Starscream peered at them a moment longer and realized they were the optics of others, thousands of them, staring and hungry.

He did not know who they belonged to, not through the mist of his agony. He did, however, know that they did not deserve to see what belonged to only one other. Whimpering faintly, he held himself closed.

"It's done," he croaked, giving the one who had baptized him a crooked, tired smile.

The last thing he remembered before his tired systems shut down right there on the stage was Megatron turning and repeating his words in the ringing voice of an orator, and the thunderous sound of the cheers that answered it.

_Politics,_ he thought, smirking at the sea of faces as the darkness claimed him.


End file.
